Skyrim Audio-Adventure
Chapter 8
"The Madness of the Hall"
When the hunter and Bracknel returned to the bannered mare that night Hulda still had the ale flowing. The guards from the outskirts were poring in to drink away the cold before making for the barracks. It was apparently the last shift of the day, the only guards left beyond the battlements were those stationed at an outpost or those lonely scouts at the various lookout towers scattered sparsely throughout the farmland.
Predictably Bracknel made a bee line for Hulda at the bar while he hunter navigated sweaty sea of gold sashes to a back table buy a bookshelf. A bookshelf. That was something he hadn't seen in a long time, and it was just sitting here in the open all unguarded. In fact it seemed to be gathering dust, didn't anyone around here read? Eagerly the hunter scanned old leather spines of the books, the legend of Red Eagle sounded exiting so he plucked it from the shelf and sat down in the somewhat large and surprisingly comfortable chair set with it's back to the bookshelf crossed his foot over his knee and began reading.
This book was a good pick once he brushed the dust off, though it never outright stated whether it was a history or a myth it seemed to be based around some historical facts. Namely the subjugation of the Natives of the reach by the invading Nords who would one day call this land their own. To the southwest of Whiterun the land grew teeth and became the gagged hostile cliffs of the series of deep canyons called "the reach." The hunter had never been, but this wasn't the first book he'd read on the subject. Red eagle was one such native who was named so for the call of the bird that heralded his birth. He was very accomplished warrior and had a sword that shone with flame, witch he took to mean it was very shiny. Weapon upkeep was something he'd have to get better at considering recent revelations about his bow, Laria. To return to the book it seemed that no matter how many battles red eagle won the Nords kept coming and he soon realized he was fighting a losing battle. The hunter had just gotten to the bit when red eagle carved out his own heart to get stronger, and he was sitting with his eyes closed trying to figure out what that could be a metaphor for, when the doors swung open with a low clattering sound.
The hunter opened his eyes and looked to see a huge figure cloaked in black step out of the night. Their hood was up and he couldn't see their face, but he could hear the clinking of metal on wood. The figure's leather boots were overlaid with sharp steel plates that finished in a point like a birds beak. The guards, now so full of drink their eyes were brown, still had the wherewithal to give the figure a wide berth as they strode across the tavern and straight to the hunter.
The hunter looked down at his book not wanting to engage unless he had to. He heard the steel footsteps come right up to him and stop. There was a tense moment of silence before a low voice emitted from the hood, "That's my chair."
The voice was low but not male. He peered up into the hood. "I beg your pardon?"
A low hissing sigh escaped was fists clenched, "You're sitting in my seat. You'll have to move."
"There is an identical chair right there." the hunter gesture to the seat right across the small tea table from his own.
"A warrior never sits with their back to the room."
"Your back is to the room right now."
There was a pause and the hunter registered that the room has gone still. The figure leaned down and sharp steel hands reached up to lower the hood. He was looking into the face of a imposing Nord woman, her jaw was square, her skin was sun darkened from many days on the road, and her face was scarred for battles old and new. If Aela was crafted from marble, this woman was carved from granite. Her hair was the color of wet straw and her eyes were a dark green. "Do you know who I am?" she asked.
"Haven't a clue." he answered honestly.
"I am Uthgerd the Unbroken, you are speaking to the strongest warrior in all of Whiterun. Now get out of my chair or you'll find out why."
The hunter wanted to move he really did, he wanted no part of this oncoming storm. However he was so sore from a days training at Jorrvaskr, that he couldn't move. Not to mention sitting foot over knee as he had been had sneakily put his legs to sleep. Not wanting to flop around on the ground like a new born deer the hunter elected to keep talking until the feeling crept back into his limbs. "You know thats the second time the strongest warrior in Whiterun has threatened me tonight."
Uthgerds eye narrowed emphasizing sun-kissed crows feet, "And who pray tell was that."
"The wolf of Whiterun."
"The companions?" Uthgerd bent down even further her voice suddenly dripping with venomous hatred, "you're with them are you?"
The hunter wanted to punch himself in the gut, this was getting worse by the second. That said, every moment she was talking was a moment he wasn't getting a candlestick shoved in his ear so the conversation had to continue. "I'm not with anyone, I try not to associate with people who threaten my life."
"Why would Aela the huntress waist her time on you?"
"It probably has something to do with the bloody nose I gave her." that still sounded weird coming out of his mouth but he didn't hate it.
Uthgerd's leathery nostrils flared and her eyes would have set him aflame if he wasn't about to wet himself. "... You're lying." she growled.
"You a fan? Why don't you join them? You look strong I'm sure they'd have you."
No sooner had the words left his lips then he was lifted out of the chair and slammed against the back wall. Shacking off the immediate deja vu, the hunter was pleased, he could now use the wall to stabilize his sleepy legs. He hadn't even dropped the book. Spittle flew from Uthgerds mouth as she hissed right into his face. "The companions are nothing compared to me understand? Nothing! I could sweep them aside like the sun sweeps away the night."
"Ok, sounds good." the hunter squeaked, but she had already dropped him and was returning to her chair.
"Don't forget that outsider."
"By the skies," the hunter thought as he used the walls to hobble to his room with needles in his legs, "No wonder no one here ever reads."
The hunter would have thought that after such an exhausting day he would sleep soundly but apparently the pain in his muscles was too much to allow that. It wasn't a bad feeling per-say, Aela's words about how he had become stronger rang in his ears. Perhaps if he had some way to make money he could stay longer before having to return to his hunting grounds. What he would say to Aela when they saw each other next was a mystery to him. He was not to help Kodlak? Had she overheard his offer? Kodlak seemed to think the hall was straying away from him, what was that about? What role did Aela play in it? Were the two at odds then? But Kodlak was a legend and certainly carried himself like one. He still couldn't wrap his his head around actually meeting Kodlak Whitemane, a real live hero of tall tales and campfire stories, next he'd probably meet the Hero of Kvatch.
With all this swirling around his head he got up very early the next morning, more because he was tired of lying down than any sleep cycle. He'd slept in his cloths so they wouldn't get taken again. Breakfast had yet to be made so he bought an apple for 3 copper from Saadia who seemed to be the only one awake and wondered out into the streets of Whiterun.
The toes of his boots where immediately wet with dew. Every clump of plains grass and patch of weeds was dripping form the chilly night. Though it was well into Second Seed now the grab of Rain's Hand was tight here in Skyrim. The sky was dark with heavy clouds, here and there a last glimpse of waining starlight in the brightening azure heavens shined through. Still feeling groggy from a poor night of semi-sleep the hunter walked by the outer wall, raised his nose and sniffed at the coming day. There was none of that telltale static in there air, no lightning storms. None of that smell of disturbed dust, it hadn't rained anywhere near by. The air was damp but not moist, it probably wouldn't rain today either. The air had a crispness to it, a fresh energy, he could expect a fair bit of wind today.
He paused on his walk along the outer wall to dig a small hole in the dirt with the toe of his boot. He spat four black apple seeds into the hole and buried them. He then weaved through a few hut homes to the main road gnawing on the core of the apple like a dog gnawing a bone as he went. Eventually even that would be gone.
The Drunken huntsman was the best store in Whiterun and it would be hard to change the hunters mind on that fact. Situated near the gates it was run buy a couple of wood elf brothers and they knew there clientele, as evidenced buy how early they opened. He was able stock up on hunting supplies for the first time since he'd lost his camp. Short knives, skinning knives, resin, wet stone, rope, string, snares, bear claws, flint, leather scraps, stale deer jerky, iron rings, some oil for torches and kindling as well as twenty new arrows, crow fletched iron heads like his others. And all it cost him was practically every last coin he had, plus one or two appeals to sympathy with his missing finger. He couldn't afford a tent but he still felt significantly more stable than he had in weeks. They turned him down when he'd offered to do some hunting for their meat stall in the market, apparently they already had a few hunters on the payroll and didn't want to thin the heard too much. Despite that rejection he's made out like a real bandit and the store was named after some fool getting shot in the ass, hands down best establishment in Whiterun. Elrindir, the more "civilized" of the two brothers, had even passed him a slip of paper on his way out the door saying he was "always welcome to try this if he needed to make money". They're good people at the drunken huntsman.
Now the hunter sat in the ghostly silence of the empty market square. He had found a nice spot off to the west edge of the space where he could sit down and keep an eye on the front door of the bannered mare. He wasn't alone, a woman was leaning against a storefront across the way. Her cheap brown burlap cloak parted just enough for him to see a Whiterun guard's sash. She was defiantly watching him but he was wrapped up in his task. He had his bearskin pack emptied and was eagerly augmenting it and taking inventory.
First he took a short knife to a bear claw and slowly refined it down to a curved needle complete with a hole for thread. He ran some of the thin twine through his mouth to wet it, fed it through the eye and set about making use of all those leather scraps. The were cheap for a reason, each being a small and irregular in shape, but he didn't mind; after a solid hours work he was had taken eight scraps and turned them into five pockets. Into one he stowed his small cask of oil, one his wet stone, one his knives and one his snares. The last pocket was chaos, holding flint, bear claws and excess string.
He prepared more twine and attached the resin pouch to his utility belt next to his water skin. He then began to use the thicker ropes to reenforce the shoulder straps and perhaps, he thought, make anchor he could tie around his waist just above his belt to secure the pack. At some point as he set out on this latest venter he started to hum out a song. It was an old melody, something that vexed him when he tried to place, it came out as easy as breathing. "dadadadada... dadadadada... dadadada... dadadada"
"In time of most need
from Saardavarlid"
Suddenly a new voice was there, it had joined him in the melody only this voice wasn't humming she was singing.
"A burst of light
a fated fight"
The string might have been caught between some teeth the way it was hanging loose from his lips as he took in the new comer. It was the woman from yesterday, the one he had thought might be Mila's mother. Long dark hair tucked behind her ears, pale skin but proud imperial features. Her lush lips parted as she began the next verse, the words pulled at his mind, they stung and plucked at tangled memories long since stowed away.
"in shackles we died
in millions we cried
A hero came
immortal name"
Before he knew what he was doing the hunter had joined in word floating to him out of the ether like wisps of smoke. They sang together.
"Alessia, the queen of slaves, she put the Ailids in there graves
and freed the tower from their power did brave Alessia
Alessia, first of her kind she led us to the eight divines
And of Morihaus she made a spouse did fair Alessia"
At the close of the song, the pair just stared at each other for a moment. The hunter's tunnel vision slowly alleviated and he noticed the cart. It seemed the woman had been dragging a cart full of fresh vegetables. He looked to his left and realized that without meaning to he had sat right next to her market stall. Mila in a dirty green dress, was standing behind the cart eyeing him with distrust. Behind her a few people were moving through the square tucked into there dark cloaks. He looked back to the mother apologetic but she was only smiling. Not, the condescending or playful smirks of Aela, this was a soft and kind smile.
"So, you're from the Cyridil then."
"Um, no actually?"
"But I can see you're mixed at least." "Mila see? He's just like you."
"So he's not a bandit?"
"No he's just a man. But really I haven't seen you around till yesterday. Who are you?"
"I'm a hunter... you can call me Stranger."
"Seems appropriate enough, where are you from stranger?"
"Helgen, or thereabouts."
"Oh up in the mountains, no wonder you dress like that."
"How about you, what's your name?"
"I'm Carlotta Valentia, I sell food in the market for some of the farms outside the walls. Today's batch is from the Pelagia farm and grove."
"I'm sorry but... can I ask, why you thought I was from Cyrodiil?"
"Well that's a Cyrodiilic song. It's Alessia, the slave who led the rebellion of men against their elven masters and liberated the land of Cyrodiil. She established the church of the eight divines and became the first empress of the first Cyrodiilic empire. Saint Alessia first of her kind."
"Never heard of her. Sounds like its a really old story."
"It is but every empire girl grows up on stories of Alessia. How do you know that song but not the story?"
"I must have heard it before, maybe from my mom. What's Morihaus?"
"Morihaus was the half god, half Nord, all Minotaur son of Kyne. He was Alissia' first champion and her lover. They had Belharza who became the first emperor."
"You read a lot of books?
"Someone has teach my daughter her history."
"Oh so this is your little Belharza."
"My little ray of light. Come over Mila." "This is Stranger, say Hi."
"Hi, Stranger, sorry me and lars made Aela beat you up."
"Oh hehe, don't worry about that, i'm sure she would have found a reason to do it anyway."
"Why do you dress like that, you look just like the stories of bandits."
"Well I wear these cloths because I normally live on the slopes of that big mountain right there."
"The Throat of the World?"
"Exactly and most of the year it gets very cold up there so I have to where theses furs to keep warm."
"But we're not on the mountain now, why are you still wearing them?"
"Very astute of you Mila. There for a few reasons actually, one reason is the same reason I wear this belt and dagger here. You see for hunters it is very important that we are always ready and always prepared. That where we can adapt and move and survive in a bunch of different ways."
"That's cool!"
"It is cool. And the other reason is that I am really really broke. Stone broke, just stageringly poor, strapped, destitute; as in on any given day I have no money."
"...Oh I get it. You're like Brenuin!"
The hunter looked to Carlotta "Who is Brenuin?"
"He's the town beggar."
"I am not like Brenuin. Not at all I actually do have some money, I always keep a few coins in my boot for emergencies. Here I'll show you, you might want to learn this trick."
"Mila please start setting up the stall."
"Yes mama."
"Sorry... and thanks. Sometimes nothing comes out and sometimes it's a bloody torrent."
"Don't worry I understand. I've spent a lot of time alone as well."
"So there's no Morihaus in this story?"
"No, my Morihaus died in bandit raid on the lorius farm when she was two. It's just been the two of us ever since."
"I don't mean to be insensitive but, have you-"
"Have I ever considered remarrying? Not for a second. I know I'm pretty, even exotic to a lot of Nords, but they want me and thats all. None of them care about Mila's wellbeing, and he's the only really important thing in my life."
"'Them'? So there have been a few men interested?"
"Are you kidding? Half the men in Whiterun have proposed to me. A few were even single, imagine that. They'll just never understand, nothing's coming between me an my little girl."
"So you've turned them all down?"
"Of course, to varying degrees of success mind you. You're not after me too are you?"
"No, no. I'm not at all. I'm not sticking around any." the noted a brief narrowing to her eyes and corrected course, "Not that it would make a difference."
"Too right it wouldn't."
"If I may though... How can you be unsuccessful a rejecting someone? Don't you just say no?"
"Well it's all a question of whether they'll take no for an answer. Men have egos and Nord men especially."
"So then what? Are you having trouble with them?"
"Oh no not real trouble, I've got the guards to look out for me," she said turning and waving to the guard still leaning against the storefront in her gold sash. The guardswoman nodded to her levelly. "Those who aren't suiters themselves at least. No what ends us happening is some of them will throw a tantrum or try to ruin my good name somehow. Most people just recognize that as hot air though."
"Still thats terrible. You're just trying to be there for your daughter and you have to deal with slander?"
"It is a pain. Especially when Mikael starts spouting off about me."
"Who's Mikael?"
"Oh right, you're new here. Mikael is a bard that lives in the city, he frequents the Bannered Mare."
The hunter remembered back to the man he'd seen playing the drum one handed the night he'd arrived. Dark blonde hair, dusting of a mustache and goatee. "What's he done?"
"Well, again he hasn't done anything; but the way he talks about me you'd think I said yes. He keeps boasting about how he'll conquer me as a true Nord conquers any harsh beast. Really, I'd sooner kiss a skeever than that mealy mouthed waste of air."
The hunter just listened to Carlotta vent, silently making a mental not to never refer to a woman as a 'harsh beast'. In light of recent evidence he was beginning to question every book head ever read about dashing adventurous bards, the suave wooers of women and writers of ballets. The reality, while a narrow view was substantially less glamorous. Eventually Carlotta must have realized she was doing basically all the talking, she stopped and glanced back at Mila who was carefully moving the vegetables from the cart to the stall and arranging according the strict but unknowable logic of young minds. The imperial woman then drew the back of her hand across her forehead and looked back to the hunter still sitting in that spot "So would you like any fresh vegetables?"
"Huh? No, I already ate."
"Then why are you waiting by my stall."
"Oh I'm just, fixing my pack here." the hunter held up the rope and twine for emphasis. "I had some trouble so I had to restock. Now I'm just getting sorted."
"What kind of trouble?"
"The kind with flowers and rainbows and...(cough) bandits."
"Oh... I'm sorry." her eyes darted to his hand briefly.
"Don't be, its fine... I'm here now. Just restocked at the drunken huntsman. They even gave me this to help me find work." the hunter reached into a pouch pulled out the folded slip of parchment.
"What's that?"
"This iiiisss," the hunter unfolded the slip and ran his eyes down it. He visibly deflated and sighed. "Its a Bounty notice." he handed the notice to Carlotta looking thoroughly crestfallen. "Here you can have this I'm not interested."
Carlotta held the parchment out in front of her and read. "Bounty: By the will of Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun, 300 gold septims are to be paid for the routeing, clearing, or wholesale eradication of the Bandit troop that has taken up residence in the Valtheim towers east of Whiterun. Payment shall be issued at proven completion of this task as confirmed by the Whiterun guard. By order of Proventus Avenicci. Sighed Balgruuf the greater." Carlotta finished reading and moved to hand the note back to the hunter but he refused to take it.
"I'm not interested in bounty work."
"Amren started out as a mercenary now he lives in the wind district."
"Yes well I'm not Amren, and I'm not interested in 300 gold for that."
"300 gold is a lot of money, for someone in your position I imagine that this would be tempting."
"I suppose but even if I do that, I won't get 300 gold. Bandit troops can have anywhere from 10 to more than 20 fighters. I'd need to hire people to help me, and split the reward. So lets say I hire 5 warriors to give myself a fighting chance, that means its really 50 gold for me. Then some of that has to go to weapon and armor repairs, or medicine if I get hurt. So really theres 30 gold in it for me, which is maybe a month of modest living before I need to do it again and thats assuming I don't die. In fact if this Amren you speak of really got rich doing that, then either he's one of the most skill warriors in all of Skyrim, or a lot of his own people have died on the job."
Carlotta was watching him steadily eyebrows raised, "Then perhaps this isn't for you."
"No, sorry for ranting again. I'm sure Amren a decent fellow."
"You're in a tough place huh?"
"I'm doing a lot better, really."
"Then can you take back this notice, I don't need you pushing your trash on me.
"I... sure. Thats fair."
"Look, I don't normally give out charity but I suppose I could part with a carrot or two while you're here."
"No really, it's fine. I'm just waiting for a friend in the mare, he should be waking up soon."
Carlotta narrowed her eyes and looked back to the inn. "Are you sure you haven't missed him? Its midmorning already."
The hunter started at this and looked up at the sky, the clouds had darkened the day but she was right, the sky beyond was brightening. A mighty glow suffused the whole of the eastern sky. The hunter quickly stowed his supplies back into his pack. "Sorry to be so abrupt but I need to be somewhere."
"So I see. Well if you're ever looking to spend that emergency coin I've got the freshest crop in the market."
"I'll take it under consideration." The hunter turned to little Mila and called "You have a very good mother, always listen to her." He finished strapping everything on, slung his bow over his shoulder, looked at Carlotta for a brief moment before giving her an awkward nod and setting off to the wind district and the Skyforge.
Bracknel didn't make an appearance till the hunter was almost done with his fitting. Eorland had sat him down at a table in the patio and had used a knotted threat to take countless little measurements of his hand and wrist. He was finishing up by making several tracings of his hand with quill and parchment. The hunter was sure some of the ink had gotten on his hand but he dare not interrupt the master. So he stared blankly at the rafters, listening to a faint scrabbling sound he wasn't sure about, it could be mice or more likely a swallow. He'd just about settled on the idea that it was a family of wrens when Bracknel came waltzing around the corner, a touch out of breath, with a huge great-sword strapped to his back.
This thing was magnificent. It was as near as tall as Bracknel it's pommel protruding about a foot above his head. It bright red gem was set into the pommel contrasting with the rich black leather of the grip. The steal of the guard was inlayed with a gold material he didn't recognize. The blade was hidden in the black scabbard but even that was spectacular, there were silver runes crafted into it. He couldn't see all of it from here but he recognized the Nordic rune for 'Sentinel' peaking over Bracknels shoulder. The contrast between Bracknels rough and wizened self and the majesty of the sword created an absurd scene.
"What the hell is that?"
"Well good morning to you too, Stranger." wheezed the old Nord as he hoisted the sword off of his back and set it on the table.
"Its almost time for lunch, you old hound. Where have you been?"
"Enjoying the many benefits of city life. What are you two polishing nails over here?"
"I gotta look good for my date with Athis don't I? Seriously what's with the greatsword?"
Bracknel grunted as he sat down and wiped some sweat off his brow, "It is the master work of Adrianne Avenicci. I agreed to fairy it up the hill to Dragonsearch for presentation to the jarl, in return I'm getting a discount on my footlocker."
"You're headed up to the castle then?"
"Yes if only for a moment, would you like to come?"
"The view is bound to be splendid but I'm pretty set on training for the day."
"Then we'll head up when you're done."
"What about the delivery."
"It was never specified that I be hasty only that I get it there." Bracknel said with a cheeky grin and a grunt as he unslung his bow.
The hunter eyed the versatile old solders weapon as it was set down next to the sword. "Say has Aela ever told you to get a new bow?" he asked.
Bracknel's grin grew wider at the question. "She did once. Next morning she had to explain why two of her nice eagle fletched arrows where stuck in the wall above the jarls bed."
The hunters jaw fell open aghast as he looked from the smiling old Nord to the towering spires of Dragonsreach castle. "How the hell did you pull that off?"
"Who says it was me? They were her arrows. Guards all shoot the pigeon fletch with the red dye."
"You colossal curmudgeon."
"Don't you get snappy with me I know nothing about it... but I do know the jarl isn't allowed to sleep in a room with a window anymore. Irileth had his bedroom moved."
It was about this moment that the hunter noticed the table was beginning to shake. He planted both of his feet firmly on the ground, trying to feel for the earthquake he was sure was building. When the ground proved solid and still he realized what was happening. Eorlund Grey-Mane was leaning over the table, beside himself with laughter. The laugh of this master smith seemed almost paradoxical in nature being at once a low rumble and a high wheeze.
The hunter relaxed and looked back to Bracknel "Did Aela actually get in trouble?"
"Well the guards couldn't prove anything, Aela was the only one who both used those arrows and had the skill to make that shot. That being said she was still the wolf of Whiterun and certain allowances had to be made. It was exceptionally annoying at the very least."
"I am glad to see the madness of the hall has not escaped you Bracknel." Eorlund chuckled as he stood gathering his materials. "I am done. You are leaving the morning after next?"
"Yes." the hunter confirmed.
"Come see me before you set out then. It will be ready." He stepped over to the great-sword and picked it up, inspecting it closely. Bracknel made no move to stop Eorlund as the smith undid the cording that anchored the sword in it's sheath and smoothly drew it. The steel gleamed bright even in the shade of the patio. Eorlund looked down the length of the blade at the acid etched runes. "The hawk with eyes most watchful tends the garden most bountiful. Blazegarden." they read. He took the grip in both hands and gave it a small shake. Finally he ran his hand along the blade, pausing and squeezing lightly as he went. "Very good." he muttered softly, then returned the blade it's scabbard and retied the anchor chord. The hunter thought the knot was somewhat more ornate than it had been before. Then in that way of his without another word he left. Leaving the too hunters sitting alone by the yard of Jorrvaskr.
"High praise that is." Bracknel muttered before slapping his knee and looking at the hunter, "So you ready to go find Athis?"
The pair stood, stretched and wondered inside in search of the dark elf. They did not find him in the barracks bellow but splayed out in a fine couch by the smoldering fire pit. His skin was a purplish grey a shade on the light side for his race and his brow ridge was heavy and pronounced as one would expect. His mouth was narrow was the rest of him, wiry and spry and in a sorry state. His eyes were bruised, his nose was clogged with dried blood and his jaw was hanging crooked as he snored loudly. Bracknel, not seeming too worried about any of this, approached and poked him softly in the ribs.
Athis's snoring caught and he shifted sleepy. His swollen eyes blinked open and the hunter thought they might have been bloodshot but he could tell because dark-elf eyes are always crimson. His hand moved to his jaw and as his first act of the day Athis yanked it with a loud pop and the jaw was returned to its socket.
He peered up at Bracknel, "I know you," he said as if he was speaking around a small mouthful of food. "you're that old fucker what pals around with Aela smelling like a wet rag."
"And you're that sorry excuse for elf who wants to be a Nord despite the fact you still look like a twig."
The dark elf smiled slowly "Bracknel... to what do I owe the pleasure."
"Just wondering if you're ready to get some sparring in."
"Is the sun up?" Athis asked in a tone that didn't sound like a real question.
Bracknel nodded, "it is."
"Then I'm ready," Athis said sitting up with a groan. He snorted and tried to wipe the dried blood from his nose, "I always put in work on Tirdas anyway."
"It's Middas," the hunter chimed in.
"Is it? Fuckin incredible." the elf turned a narrowed eye to the hunter "And what are you then, a new whelp?"
"No i'm just training, you can call me stranger. I think we met we yesterday in the training yard."
"Did we I don't recall."
"Thats because njeda slammed you through a table." Bracknel clarified.
"Oh," Athis wiped his nose again and finally seemed to take proper stock of himself, "well that explains why everything smells like piss and wine." He swung his legs off the couch and felt his jaw again. "Tell you what give me a half-hour to get sorted I'll meet you in the yard."
"Sure take your time," Bracknel said and motioned to the hunter to follow him outside.
Today's training was far closer to what the hunter had been expecting. First, Backnel talked both he and Athis through some forms with the training rods, the motions were difficult with the weighted sticks and the parameters for success seemed very narrow. Then they switched to wooden swords, not the kids toys he and Aela had fought with but properly scaled long swords. Somewhat lighter so the hunter could actually wield them, and began to work on basic parries and ripostes. Bracknel for his part pulled up a chair a sat back sipping what the hunter strongly suspected was alto wine and underwent another transformation. From reclusive hermit to well-connected socialite, and now to military drill instructor.
"Stranger! Are you holding a shield?"
"Uh, no..."
"Then why are standing with your sword in your back hand, switch your feet! Always keep your sword between you and him. Don't give him a bigger target than you need to." It went like this for next couple hours. "Don't be stationary target move your feet." "Leg strikes are sneaky but if you don't set them up he'll stab you right in your dumb face the moment you drop your sword." "That strike was too wide! What were you trying to cut, the forest?" "You don't need to swing hard to cut deep, be fast, be nimble." "Don't spin! At least not unless you're engaged with his blade or moving away. Then theres nothing to stop him from stabbing you in the back. We'll work on pirouettes later, they do come in handy against multipe opponents." "Stay engaged, keep that point on him, if he wants to run make him pay. But don't chase or you'll lose your base." "You'll want too hands for that strike. Don't get cute." "Watch the off hand! Don't let him control your blade" "cutting his sword arm is just as good as lopping of his head, and a lot easier to reach." And on and on and on.
The hunter had hoped that the intense training from the day before would in some way steel him against exhaustion but his muscle were drained of their energy even faster than before. Athis for his part was doing well, moving in a manner that was both deliberate and relaxed, both firm and smooth. He didn't seem to tired at all, and his gaze was level and keen despite the swelling in his eyes. They had to pause repeatedly for the hunter to chase down his sword. With every other riposte Athis was able easily disarm him. No matter what little adjustments he made to his grip, if he had both hands on the grip, his missing finger was a major hindrance so much so that Athis wasn't too keen on moving to open sparring.
"Nonsense he's a tough lad, he can handle a bit of punishment." Bracknel said through a mouthful of bread. He had of course taken lunch without them.
"I'm not worried about him," Athis clarified "I'm worried about me, how am I supposed to get anything for sparring someone who can barely hold their a sword."
"He went toe to toe with Aela the other night, trust me he'll do alright."
The hunter wasn't listening to this exchange, he was scanning to the table in search of anything that could pass for food, he was once again starving. Eventually he relinquished his ambitions of rationing and grabbed some jerky from his pack, he was still chewing on it when he and Athis finally faced off.
The dark elf stretched and held his sword up steadily in one hand. The hunter danced lightly on he balls his feet ready to move at a moment's notice. Bracknel had started smoking pipe weed lazily. The old Nord almost seem to be distracted by a scrabbling sound in the rafters, before finally nodding to himself and shouting "Begin!"
Nothing happened. Athis and the hunter stared at each other, red eyes matching dark brown. Then Athis broke into laughter. "Oh by Azura if only every fight went like this, what a world if everyone was so focused on their second move no one bothered to make the first. Oh my how peace would reign. But alas that's not how it goes is it. I bet Aela came right at you, but not me. You want to spare with me you'll have to come into my house." The hunter still didn't make a move, and Athis cocked an eyebrow. "I can afford to pick this up right here tomorrow, can you?" Now the fight began.
The hunter stepped right and Athis started to circle. The hunter struck high and Athis moved suddenly into the strike parrying and swiping through, the hunter jumped away and thought he had avoided to blow until a small pain began to radiate from his right ribs. He huffed out a frustrated sound of acknowledgment and reengaged. He went right again the trust overzealously at Athis's midsection trying to draw the high counter. He did, as the dark elf dodged right and jabbed at the hunter's head, he switched his feet and followed through just as Aela had done to him before. Changing his angle his ducked Athis's strike and drove the pummel of his wooden sword into the elf's gut. He wasn't powerful enough to sit his opponent down but his was able counter his next strike and land a would be cut to his forearm as he disengaged. Athis shook out his wrist nodding and the two squared off again. Then the hunter got hit in the shoulder; nothing fancy it was just a fast strike and the hunter hadn't expected a thrust to that part of his body. He mentally adjusted and they went again.
The pair were not evenly matched Athis got the better of most exchanges but the hunter won a few and that was enough to keep him trying. He did have to chase down his sword a couple of times however as the were not expressly working on parrying blade met blade far less than in the drills. His favorite moment was when he felt some sixth sense telling him that Athis was setting up a low strike, he jumped it and popped the Dunmer in the ear before his came down. On one occasion he was able to surprise the dark elf with a feint and pirouette, but for the most part he was the one being surprised. The sky had started to dim when something happened that surprised all three of them.
The hunter felt a hard impact as something small slammed him in the shoulder, Athis had been several paces away and he shot the elf a questioning look. Suddenly something else hit him in the chest knocking him back a few steps, he clutched at the spot and looked around at the ground, what he saw clattering against on the stone work was an arrow with a soft bulbous pouch where the sharp tip should be. Athis dropped his guard and fled for the patio. The hunter looked up to see another shadowy dart streaking through the darkening sky. He dropped reflexively and heard the arrow impact behind him. The hunter didn't consider himself a scholar among men and elves but he was confident that he knew exactly what was happening and who was responsible
Bracknel wobbled stiffly out of his seat and looked up to the keeled roof or Jorrvaskr. "Aela!" he shouted, "Knock it off you lousy wench!" He predictably had to immediately duck back under the patio as dummy arrow was sent his way.
"It's time to switch it up stranger!" came Aela's smiling voice. "Lets see if you can block arrows!"
The hunter shot to his feet and bounced on his toes ready to move but remarkably the next two arrows came down at the same time. He dodge and held up the the broad side of his wooden sword but the arrow still bopped him in the neck inducing a coughing fit. When he was doubled over hacking he felt another one hit the scar on his rump. "Impressed yet?" came Aela's familiar jeer.
Bracknel called something that sounded like 'parry' and when the hunter came up again he started swiping at the in coming arrows trying to knock them out of the way. He imagined he looked like a man thoroughly beset by a swarm of bees. None of his swipes did him any good so he made for the cover of the patio covering his head like he was in a hail storm. He was pelted as he went, one arrow caught him in the gut and he was quick enough to catch it there before it bounced off. When he finally found cover the yard fell silent. He looked up to see Bracknel and Athis calmly eating from a small food platter like nothing crazy had just happened at all. They looked up at him and nodded as if he really had just come in from a rough storm, then they went back to wrapping smoked sausage in goat cheese and eating it. He stared for a moment then nodded back, this was apparently not something worth fretting about. He strode lazily over to his bow still clutching the arrow that he had caught. He took it up, knocked the dummy arrow and waited patiently.
"Bracknel!" came Aela's voice as she scrambled down the roof and dropped over the edge of the overhang. "I think I found something else your boy needs to work on."
No sooner had she finished that sentience, before a soft tipped arrow slammed right into her forehead. Her head was knocked back and she stumbled eyes rolling in wide sockets. This stopped Bracknel and Athis from eating. This was out of the ordinary, the two sat wide eyed mouths full looking between the hunter and the wolf of Whiterun. Without a word between them they picked up their table and moved it several feet out of the way of what was about to happen. Aela was wearing a similar outfit to yesterday only this time her sleeveless tunic was a faded blue matching her eyes. Eyes that were now glaring out from a mask of rage. "What?" the hunter asked holding his arms out wide. "You started this."
"You. Are. Dead." she growled between deep seething breaths.
"Bring it."
Aela charged dropping her bow and quiver as she came. The hunter responded in kind dropping his bow and charging with a roar. The pair met in crunch of hair and flesh. They hit the deck rolling, elbowing and biting at each other tables were knocked over and chairs were tossed. They made such a racket that voices began to rise from inside Jorrvaskr. Soon the doors were open and someone what shouting "Oi look at this! Aela's fighting the new guy!"
"Ria?"
"No the other new guy numbnutts!"
Soon there were surrounded as the esteemed hall of the companions cheered them on. T he hunter found himself on the bottom and wrapped her up with his legs. He was laughing, the madness of the hall had taken him too. He was cackling like some wild thing as Aela lifted him up about a foot and slammed him down, displaying more strength than he felt should be proportionally possible. He strained to keep his head from hitting the stone and laughed some more tears pricking his eyes at this ridiculous family he'd stumbled upon.
"I apologize for nothing, you started it." the hunter said stubbornly as he, Bracknel, Athis and Aela walked through town towards the castle. Aela had insisted on coming with them to deliver Adrianne's sword after her fight with the hunter had wound down, as she put it he and Bracknel would never make it passed the front door without her. Athis also tagged along for reasons only he knew.
Aela huffed, "Yeah whatever, I had to shoot something, it was another quiet day at the Pelagia Farm."
"Oh is that where you were." Bracknel said stroking his chin. "I take it the giants didn't make an appearance?"
"If you guys are looking of for action why don't you take care of this?" the hunter pulled out the bounty notice from earlier. He handed Aela the paper and she unfolded it as they entered a courtyard at the base of the steps to the castle. The hunter's eye was drawn momentarily to a towering statue of a man in a winged helmet slaying a large serpent, however it was only a moment then he was back listening to the group.
Aela eyes scanned the paper for a moment, before she sighed, "Yeah we know about this."
"What is it?" asked Athis.
"It's the Voltheim towers job."
"Oh yeah. We're waiting on that one."
"Waiting for what?" asked the hunter.
"They're waiting for the bounty to go up." panted Bracknel as he labored under the weight of the sword.
"Are you serious?" asked the hunter taken aback. "but those bandits are attacking an harassing innocent travelers aren't they, wouldn't you want to help? The companions have the power don't they?"
"Sure we would love to," said Athis, "But I don't know if you've realized but Jorrvaskr is a pretty full place. So if half of us going to risk our necks to clear out whole horde of bandits we might as well make sure the hall is looked after. Its a lot of mouths to feed and 300 gold just won't cut it."
"Then what will cut it?"
"Thats a good question, what number are we waiting for again?" the dark elf asked the hunteress.
Aela took the first step up the long stately stair way that wound up to the front of the castle "500." she said.
"Ha!" Bracknel barked. "You'll never get it."
"Why's that?" Athis cocked an eyebrow.
"Well if i'm going to talk about it, I need you to take this damn sword Stranger."
"Sure," the hunter said taking the blade off of Bracknel's back and slinging it over his shoulder, opposite his bow.
"Listen," started Bracknel "Jarl Balgruuf is stretched a bit thin right now, his guards are scattered all over the place trying cover all fronts from hostile forces. He could fix this buy choosing a side in the war but that comes with it's own problems. It invites attack and limits trade when Whiterun is the trade center for all of inland Skyrim. No. So the Voltheim Towers, Whiterun hold's eastern most lookout has been overrun with bandits. Does he draw a substantial number of his guards away from the fields and people of the hold to launch an offensive to retake the towers? No, so he put a price on their head and lets someone else solve the problem for him. However it isn't a very high price, why? Two reasons; first because he's got the guards working so much he need to have the money to keep them fed. Second, what are those bandits doing? They are harassing and attacking any travelers who come from Eastmarch, the cradle of the Stormcloak rebellion. That means they are harassing, spies, scouts, warmongers, raiding parties armies. Those bandits are doing the jarls job for him. They are Whiterun's first line of defense. He has no reason to raise the bounty. You want that job you're doing it for 300 gold."
The stairway was early quiet save the sounds of their boots on the steps, rushing water and Bracknel's labor breath after his long explanation. Aela cleared her throat, "I suppose we could have some one head out and scout it. Vilkus, Galdus, and Ramasha probably."
The hunter took a second to look around and discovered that he was walking up a waterfall. They were nearing the head of the spring Whiterun was built on and the water was rushing over rocks and settling in pools all around him. It was clearly build to feel as if one was walking up rapids and the effect was almost dizzying. He peered into one of the pools and wondered if during Last seed the water was warm enough to swim in. He spotted a ledge and wondered if he could make the jump down into the pool, probably not worth the risk but damn what a sight. Dark clouds high above lit from bellow by the bright setting of the sun in the west shining across the land from between the mountains and the sky. The long shadows offset by the scintillating water as it ran over granite.
"It'll be golden hour soon." Athis remarked as he too took a moment to drink in the scenery. A pair of nobles in fine robes squeezed past the group going down. They nodded at Aela as they went and shot skeptical glaces at the two raggedy hunters.
"Do any of you know what Uthgerd the unbroken has against the companions?" the hunter asked.
"Oh you met Uthgerd did you?" Aela sighed. "Yeah she was going to join us a while ago."
"What happened?"
"She was strong as anything, but her techniques needed some work. Kodlak knew we would have to reign in that hot head of hers in order to train her properly so he gave her a test of restraint. Had her spar against this young whelp named Novar. We all thought she had promise, all she needed to do was hold back a bit to prove she could be sparred with and trained."
"I take it that didn't happen?"
"I don't think she meant to do it but... less then a minute into the fight she landed a high strike that practically crushed the kids skull. He died instantly and she was expelled, never to return."
The hunter swallowed thickly, he hadn't expected the tale to be so grim. "So... no second chance?" he asked slowly.
"What are we supposed to tell Novar's mother? That we let her son's killer in, that his death was somehow a successful test. The kid was too damn young. Every companion who lived to see that day carries it with them. So why shouldn't she?"
"No I understand, it's just... sad. For everyone."
"Too right, Stranger." Grumbled Athis.
On that sobering note group continued the rest of the way up the stairs in silence. When they at last reached the summit twilight was upon them. The torches and brazers were all lit illuminating a series of high archways framing a small bridge across a pool leading to the front gates of Dragonsreach castle. The archways put the hunter in mind of walking through the ribcage of some gargantuan creature. Ahead of them a pair of guards flanked the door while others patrolled the outer ring of the castle. One for the guards ahead of them stepped forward, he was wearing a helmet that covered his entire face except his eyes, which peered out suspicious and beady. None of the guards in the city wore such helmets and it was clear why. The hunter was surprised the guard had noticed them at all from in there.
"Hail Companions," came the low voice, muffled from behind the helm. "What business brings you to Dragonsreach."
"We seek an audience with the jarl, we come baring tribute."
"One moment please," said the guard as the other guard stuck they're head in the door and started talking to someone on the other side. The door was then shut and the group stood awkwardly before the guard as the message made it's way back into the castle.
"So," began Aela, "Who's under that helmet? Cassius? Colburt?"
"It's Yewstr Ma'am."
"Yewstr," Aela drawled nodding "of course, should have known you buy the... sash. So hows the wife."
"Still yet to exist ma'am."
"Well shit I tried."
"A valiant effort ma'am."
"Don't patronize me."
Mercifully the door reopened and a woman with short aubern hair in some kind of light steel armor stuck her head out. "The jarl is currently indisposed but the steward would be happy meet with you. Please come inside."
The gates swung open and something happened that the hunter never in a thousand years would have suspected, he walked into the home of one of the nine jarls of Skyrim.
The castles likeness to the body of some enormous beast carried though to the interior. The hunter felt consumed, engulfed by his surroundings. Balefires burning in raised grates and lanterns hung from crossbeams did little to light the titanic heights the cavernous hall. Pillars thick as trees stretched up into blackness, their true height only hinted at by the dim of the twilight peaking in through the high windows. He found himself flanked by more guards, standing at ridged attention, spears resting against shoulders eyes watching pensively. Voices could be heard echoing through the hall and a white glow like starlight was reflecting dully off the wall to his right. The woman who let them in stepped over to the base of a wide stare case to the second level. He saw too more guards baring swords and embossed shields waiting at the top of the stair, between them was a pale balding man in a thick woolen doublet. The imperial adjusted his belt, smoothed out his thin mustache and strode importantly down the stairs head held high. At the slightest glance the hunter found countless differences between this man and sun-tanned blacksmith by the city gates.
"Hello Companions, welcome back to Dragonsreach," The steward greeted easily.
"Honor to you Proventus," Aela bowed and Athis followed suit, "we've come at the behest of you daughter."
"Adrianne?" the man quirked an eyebrow, "What business does she have with the Jarl?"
Aela nodded to Bracknel who in turn held out his hands to the hunter. Nodding the hunter hoisted the sword off his shoulder, he heard the subtle friction of wood against leather as the guards to his sides gripped their spears tighter. He ignores this and placed the sword in Bracknel's arms.
The old hunter, still appearing starkly at odds with his surroundings. strode forward with the grace of a diplomat. "Proventus Avenicci," he began "The forge master of war-maidens and your daughter, Adrione Avonicci, has sent me baring this, her masterwork, the sword "Blazegarden", for the consideration of jarl Balgruuf. Not only as an addition to his personal armory but as qualification for the rank of Master-Smith, should the jarl see fit to bestow that honor." At the close of this speech Bracknel sank to one knee and held up the sword.
Proventus Avenicci starred at the grand black leather of the scabbard and the runes emblazoned onto it. His eyes narrowed and for the briefest of moments a look of what the hunter could only call disgust flashed across his face; but it was gone with the flicker of the flame and that placid practiced smile was back. "Oh dear," he sighed. "Poor Girl always so eager to prove herself." He motioned to the woman in armor who stepped forward and took the sword form Bracknel's presenting grasp. "I'll go ahead and present this to the jarls when he's in an... agreeable mood."
The hunter felt those words stab like a needle into the base of his brain. The scene swam before him and he blinked in confusion. What was happening? The task was complete, the sword was delivered what was the problem? Why was his head starting to hurt?
Bracknel stood bowed and backed away from the steward who nodded his head and looked back to Aela, "Will there be anything else?"
"Yes." Aela cleared her throat "The companions may be scouting the Volthiem towers soon, we'll be sure to let you know what we find?"
"Excellent and duly noted, will that be all?"
"Ye..."
"Excuse me," the hunter piped up, pushing past Bracknel and stepping up to the mousy steward who leaned back a bit at the sight of him. "With respect, I don't think you'll need to worry about the jarls mood." his eye were stinging with a mysterious passion, "Your daughter has crafted an outstanding weapon."
The steward took a step back, not a big one, it was a practiced deft motion that even when done in plain sight was hard to detect. He looked the hunter up and down and smiled with something close to blithe pity. "I'm sure to the likes of you it would seem so. However this is Dragonsreach."
"If I may, that sword came before the eyes of Eorland Greymane, and did so favorably, it is a work worthy of a master."
"I do not know you, what do you do?"
"I am a hunter of the hold."
"Then I don't see what you would know about it. Now if that is all-"
"Your daughter made that!" the hunter was shouting, the ring of sword accompanying his voice.
"I am aware."
"And you don't give a rats ass?"
"Guards!"
"Pox to you!" the hunter was suddenly jabbing his finger into the mans face. "Pox to you! And a lonely fucking grave!" Several pairs of arms wrapped themselves firmly about his chest and started pulling him back towards to the door.
"Thank you, we'll take our leave now," Aela called from behind his ear. He saw the points of spears in his periphery as Aela and Athis dragged him outside, across the bridge and down the first flight of stairs.
He didn't have time to get his feet back under him before they unceremoniously dropped him onto the stone. "What in oblivion was that?!" Aela shouted, sounding higher and shriller than he'd ever heard her. "Do you have any idea how close you were to being skewered?!"
"It wasn't right!" he shouted trying to scramble to his feet. "None of it was right! He's her father!"
Aela grabbed him by the collar looked as if she ready toss him into the water, "Do I look like I care? Divines save us! You owe me for pulling you out of there. You owe me!"
"Yeah? What'll it be now? Want me to steal from the temple or some shit?" Crack! The hunters head spun and he landed back on the stone of the walkway legs splayed in the air, instinctive rolling away from his bow. She'd punched him, not really punched him, he suspected that if she really punched him he wouldn't have a head but by the mountain he was floating. The stars were so close he felt he could touch them. Then after a moment his eyes started pointing the same direction again and they grew clear and distant.
"Fuck this! I'm out of here, I need to blow off some god damn steam." Aela seethed as she stormed off. Athis offered the hunter a hand but he refused it. The dark elf shrugged and walked off after Aela.
When the hunter finally struggled back to his feet he saw Bracknel's bearded face staring at him with big worried eyes. "Stranger... what is wrong with you."
"What do you mean? Why does it have to be about me? Why can't it be about what that rat piece of shit just did."
"Where is this coming from."
The hunter massaged his jaw, "You were there, you saw him. I'm supposed to just listen to that? Now Aela wants to take fucking swings at me."
"You realize what she did by saving you? She'll forever associated with you and that outburst of yours. All she had to do was let you get stabbed and her reputation would be intact."
"Is that supposed to make me feel bad?"
"Maybe. I don't know just think for a second."
"Fuck you!" the hunter pushed passed Bracknel trudged down the stairs "Don't you fucking look at me!"
"Where are you off to now?"
"A drink!"
The hunter loved anger. It's burning crispifying clarity. If he was worn, ragged and beaten, the sweet simplicity of anger could galvanize his bones and quiet his mind... This was not that. This was something else, something dark and tangled, dripping over his thoughts like a poison molasses. He felt fit to burst out in rage, he felt weak enough to collapse from fatigue, he was unbearably numb and he hated himself for every one of those feelings. He felt the sudden irrational compulsion to draw his dagger and drive it into his own hand, if only to bring himself back to the material plain.
The ale in his cup wasn't any help, nor was the bannered mare. He'd been drinking alone for some time now, he hadn't seen Bracknel come in and honestly wasn't looking for him. Hulda was serving drinks at the bar. Saadia wasn't there, a Nord woman with silver hair and fierce eyes was making the rounds. Uthgerd sat on her lonely throne in front of the bookshelf. That damn bard Mikael was sitting by the fire strumming a lute with boney fingers, chatting up two young ladies, One mousy, one plump and voluptuous.
"Now ladies," he heard the bard say. "while I must admit that your eyes sparkle like moon, or the river at noon, such as to have me swooning, how they threaten to consume me. I must croon a tune lest our time be up too soon."
The two girls sighed and fluttered there lashes as the bard stood up, dimming the noise of the rabble with a few basic chords. He then dove into an intensely stupid song.
("the story of a mudcrab who wants to be a sea crab" Joke song, bard keeps getting pinched)
capo 3
(oowh note) decending
(Asus)
I was wandering where the way lays
C
triping over every wastling
Dm
on the road that I was taking
E
to the sunniest of days
Asus
when I saw a sight so dreary and sad
C
I though I might go mad
Dm
and drop the task I walked with
E
the ampitions that I had
G Csus
but what was thing that could bring
Am Em
my trot to stop, my heart to drop
what sorry cad
D
A Mubcrab
A
I see him shaking his great clawed hand
C E
I see him raking all the waste and trash we leave him
A E
Every day of every season
F G
and I wonder why he ever chose the land
D
Oh Mudcrab
A
you know the oceans where the funs had
C E
you know you'd be a king to all the little creatures
A E
all the swimmers and the creepers
F G
how I wish that I could offer you a hand
Dadd9
but you'd probably pinch it. OW! (laughed)
D
ok ok, but you know
Asus
I'd take you to the clearest autumn bay
C
Where the days long and the nights are sweet
Dm
and i'd carry you along the way
E
so you would never dirt your feet
Asus
You'd thank me as you froliced in the waves
C
oh cease your thrashing just behave
Dm
you're gonna love it, wait and see
E
such a good swimmer you will be
(I'm assuming)
D
Oh mudcrab
A
I know the reason you are so mad
C E
you've wasted all your life in ditches, pits, and marshes
A E
Oh how could we be so heartless
F G
What you needed was the beaches of white sand
D
Oh mudcrab (ow! Watch it)
A
I hope you see me as a comrade (oof)
C E
look we're not getting anywhere unless I can get you
A E
to quit with all the pinchy shit
F G
Now come along the sea isn't so bad
(Live in D G and A)
What are you doing back there?
(Ow no! That's my bum!)
ooh no get off I need that for sit and riding horses and OW!
You know if you were a lady a wouldn't be averes to this at all but Woop)
the bard dances around the inn enviting ladies to pinch his butt
(look mudcrab this'll never work between us)
Mudcrab mudcrab mudcrab mudcrab
Mudcrab!
As the song wrapped up, Mikiael had taken to prancing around the tavern surreptitiously offering his rear to any who wished to give it a pinch. Several women and even a few men obliged, playing the part of the mudcrab as the inn grew giddy with the silly display. It actually wasn't a bad performance, he might have even found it endearing had he been in the mood to be endeared to. As Mikael bowed and returned to his admirers, the hunter's sharp eyes picked up a short non-verbal exchange, Hulda made a rolling motion with her hand and Mikael nodded. Apparently his next song would be coming soon to capitalize on the excitement of the moment.
Deciding that now was as good a time as any to bring the night to an abrupt halt. The hunter stood on shaky legs, several empty cups wobbled as he leaned on the table for support. He floated across the room, bumping lightly against a post as he did, until he came to stand in drunken silence before Mikael and his two wenches.
The bard was quick to take notice of him and stared expectantly into his bleary eyes. "Enjoying the music?" he asked. When the hunter didn't respond he looked to the girls at his sides. Mikael set down his lute and stood up to face the hunter, "If its a lady you're looking for, best look elsewhere. Once Mikael gets them, they're got." One the girls placed a hand over her chest in breathless enthrallment. The other to her credit, smiled but rolled her eyes subtly.
"Oh really," the hunter drawled, "You're the wasteful wooer I've heard about in the marketplace?"
The bard furrowed his brow "I know what this is," he leaned forward and talked in a hush so the girls behind him couldn't hear "Carlotta put you up to this didn't she." He shook his head tutting, "I'm sorry but that fiery widow is mine. She just doesn't know it yet."
The hunter licked his lips and grinned broadly "I am so very glad to hear you say that." He threaded his fingers and cracked his knuckles.
"What are you going to do about it? Lay a hand on me and I'll have you clapped in irons before you ..."
"I'm not doing anything," the hunter began to raise his voice till I was audible in the din of the inn. "I just wanted to congratulate you on making it into the companions. It must be a great honor for you."
Mikael looked dumbfounded, "What you taking about? Are you even sane?"
"What was the process like, was it easy for you?"
"You're just too deep into your cups."
"I just mean, so many brave and skilled warriors have come through and not made it, but you. They let you in."
Mikael's confusion was beginning to turn to distress. "I told you, I don't know what your-"
Crack! A steel clad fist came flying out of nowhere and almost caved in the bard pretty face. Fell backwards over the bench and landed just a few feet away from the fire pit the tavern descended into chaos, women screaming men shouting wooden chair legs scraping over the floor. In the middle of all of this the hunter stood cackling like a mad man. He turned to the owner of the steel fist. "Well that was great. Thanks Uthge-", then everything went black.
He woke up in a bush outside the inn. It was a good nap he thought, shame it couldn't have been longer. He groggily lifted his hand to his mouth and felt around, a minor miracle, he still had all his teeth. Counting his blessings he sighed and lay still, marking the throbbing in his temple from where he'd been struck.
"I saw that, I know that you're awake, get up." The hunter blinked his eyes open slowly to see Bracknel sitting on the steps next to him in a relaxed pale shirt.
"Did you see all that in there as well?"
"Of course I saw it."
"What do you think? I'd say I'm getting the hang of city living."
The old man shook his head, "I can't say I know what's gotten into you tonight. I can say that you're an idiot but thats nothing I didn't already know about you."
"What are you doing sitting next to a sleeping idiot?" the hunter asked as he sat up.
Bracknel hoisted the hunter's bag, bow and quiver over to him. "I just wanted to bring you're stuff out to you."
The hunter looked at all his gear solemnly "I take it I lost my room?"
"You've gotten the boot, yes."
"Right..." the hunter grabbed his gear and stood up with a chipper hop, "So, where are we going now?"
Bracknel's eyes were cool but sagging, a face accustomed to disappointment. "We're not going anywhere. I'm staying here. You should consider heading up to Jorrvaskr, if you beg they might let you sleep on the floor."
The hunter strapped on his gear and pursed his lips mulling it over. Eventually he shook his head. "Nah fuck that, I'm taking a walk out the gates, I need the air."
"Might want to get some water before you go, you really did a number on you're self and I wouldn't drink the city runoff. At least not for a couple miles don't stream and you're not going that far."
"How would you know how far I'm going?"
"Because even idiots aren't that stupid."
The hunter didn't respond, he simply slung his bow over his shoulder, cocked his head at Bracknel with a tired noncommittal expression, stepped of into the Whiterun night.
He was not even a block away from the inn when a dark figure stepped out from between two houses on his right. In a flash he drew the dagger at his belt; it slipped out of his unsure grip and clattered loudly to the ground. As the ring of steel on stone echoed down the streets, the face of Carlotta Valentia came into focus before him. Her eyes were big with momentary fright, but they soon softened. The hunter was frozen to the spot, a mix of drunken shame and clumsy embarrassment.
"Hey." Carlotta said.
"... Hey. Sorry you startled me." the hunter ducked to retrieve his dagger and stow it away.
"I see." Carlotta folded her arms uncomfortably, "I heard about what happened in there."
"I take it you have an opinion?"
Carlotta looked around the air above the hunter's head as if looking for the answer. "No... I don't think I do. I'm not gonna say Mikael didn't deserve it, but I can't say you didn't either."
"Then, what are you doing out here?"
"Well its not to thank you; for all I know this will make Mikael worse."
"Fair point."
"Its just that judging from what I heard and how you smell I'm guessing that little emergency of yours has evaporated. So here, the least I can do is replace it." Reaching into a hip pouch Carlotta produced three dull silver coins and held them out offering to the hunter.
He looked down at them, their smooth edges gleaming in the moon light. His hand reached for hers, but he closed it and backed away. "You're the mother," he said "keep it." He turned away from her then and continued down the road to the gates.
Carlotta watched him leaving and stowed the coins away. "Where are you going this late?" she called after him?
"Out for a walk."
"I see. Stay safe then."
"Sure." the hunter said almost to himself. The walk to the gates was a good one, his boots felt lighter, more comfortable somehow.
When the gates were opened just enough for him to pass, the first thing he saw was a drooling gold stallion rushing towards him hooves loudly thudding across the path. He flinched as the beast came skidding to a halt. It's rider a wiry guardsman with a young face, brought the horse around and addressed the guards in the parapets above the gate. "All quite at the western watch tower!" he called "They're a bit low on rations and gloves but they'll last till morning. I'm moving on to the north!" and without another word horse and rider took off back down the path, weaving through the ramparts and back into the night. The hunter steadied his heart and set out, horses were a less common sigh on the slopes and cliffs of the mountains.
Heeding Bracknel's advise he filched some water from a keg at the base of a tower as he made his way out of town. The sky was lightly dappled with clouds now, the air was drying, definitely no rain, in fact it would clear up as the night went on. A moon at about three quarters fullness, was passing over head. It's pale light making short work of the clouds. Something was strange about this moon though it was small. Or smaller than usual at least. This was Secunda the smaller of the two moons, it's larger counterpart Masser had to be up there too, the two moons were always dancing around each other like lovers, comrades, or depending on the legend, the broken corpse of the creator god. Masser would often eclipse Secunda but for what ever reason it was a dim dark giant tonight.
The hunter marveled at this for a moment, it had been a while since Secunda had stole the show from Masser. He hadn't read anything about the moons since he sleepy skimmed a phenomenally dull imperial treatise on the cultures of Elyswir, so he was unfamiliar with the exactitudes of the lunar cycles. Harvest moon came when it came, 2 or 3 blood moons a year, and some times the Secunda would insufficiently eclipse Masser a we'd get the flower moon, or as some called it, the egg moon, or the cream moon thanks to it's likeness to a boiled cream treat. Gosh it had been a while since the hunter had had one of those.
His gut rumbled as he passed the stables, and this meant a lot of rumbling as the white run stables were massive. Easily a few hundred horses lived there, some being raised, some trained, or broken, other were simply in storage, waiting for guards of their owners to take them out. The thudding of hooves approached once more and a guardsman rider blew by with message on tongue. It had been a difference pair. The rider had been husky and mustachioed, the horse had been a dappled mare. He resolved to turn his mind from the ways of the moons to the logistics of the horse-guards nightly rounds. It seemed the more practical diversion after all.
He'd just about worked out how many riders were out at any given time during the nights when he came to a wall and stopped. He stared at it wondering how long he'd been walking lost in his head that stone and mortar could sneak up on him with such deft stealth. As for the number of riders no more than three, and there had to be a few that were just waiting at the watchtowers incase something serious happened. The Jarl must have demanded constant up to date reports.
The hunter turned around parked his rear atop the uneven wall. Sighing as his stomach put up a dogged protest about his dietary choices that night, the hunter remembered the remaining jerky in his pack and started doing some rough hunger addled math. He briefly considered jamming a finger down his throat to purge some of the alcohol but decided against puking on some farmers crops. Seriously what was that? What was this gnarled beast who'd began chewing through his gut, was it there before he'd sunk so deep in his cups or was it just a drunkards shame. Regardless its was a type of shame. He slipped his fingers into his collar and togged slightly at his furs, not wanting open himself up to the bite of Skyrim's night, but still desperately needing to air himself out.
The wind of the night was a sleepy mountains breath; the wheat a whispering crowd. The hair on his neck and chest stood up as night set into his bones. That most uncanny of all the evenings machinations had come, the witching hour was upon him. Electricity flooded his veins, sleep passed from eventuality to abstract concept and he looked up to the unlikely focal point of the sky, spread his arms out wide and let out a howl. "Wooooooaaaahooo!"
Into that howl he put his regret, longing, fury, and frustration. He purged all that which could not be aloud to fester and sent it ringing across the fields. The sound echoed strangely, off of what he did not know. Stone walls and wooden fences hardly had the makings of cave, but alas here they came rolling back to him. It had not been wolfs howl but it sure sounded like one now... then another and another. They were getting closer.
"Oh no." the hunter breathed. He jumped up on the wall and looked around trying to figure out their direction. To the East he saw shadows darting over a fence into a wheat field, briefly distinct from the darkness if the night. Then the moon kissed tips of the wheat stocks began to part and whip in herald of the danger.
The hunter dropped off the divide and snatched up his pack, they weren't between him and the gate, running was a grim protect but at least it was still an option. He didn't even bother slinging his bow over his shoulder he just held it in his hands as he took off back the way he' come. He hardly made it a 5 steps before his way was blocked by a huge black shape. A single fierce eye gleamed at him out of the night, massive paws clawed at the ground and sharp bristles like spikes rose above it, setting it's dreadful outline against the distant lights of Whiterun. Titus the one eyed wolf stood before him once again.
The hunter couldn't help but be surprised, this was a long way to come, were they following him? He barely had time to be confused before the rest of the pack was on him. They came not just from the east but from the south, emerging in the wake of their leader, he was surrounded by the wolf pack of the Riverwood valley. A low chorus of growls, pants and snapping jaws built all around him, as he spun trying to keep as many of them in front of him as he could. This proved futile and he finally settle back on his familiar one-eyed foe. He took stock of the fact that he had not yet been shredded and sighed. "Are looking to settle this?" He dropped his pack and drew his dagger. "I suppose tonight as good a night as any. If we go I guarantee we go together." Holding his bow out in front of him like a shield he readied himself for the fight of his life.
Titus sniffed and pawed the ground the fixed the hunter with a glare. A flash of red to his right and the hunter turned to halt the snapping advance of a younger ruddy brown wolf almost as large as Titus. The beast sprung at him, he sidestepped and whacked it's jaw with the wing of his bow. The wolf changed direction and sprung back at him teeth bared aiming at his throat. The hunter readied his dagger to meet the wolf's heart, but suddenly the wolf wasn't there, a familiar black mass has barrel into it knocking it aside. The younger wolf snapped up at Titus as the pack-leader pinned him down. The black wolf latched onto the red wolfs ear and the underling relented. As the hunter watched in astonishment a rustling at his feet alerted him to the fact that two smaller wolves were dragging his backpack away. Moved to stop them but was too late, they had pulled out the rope like they were disemboweling pray. One of them started to gnaw on the rope while the other tried running away with it, the result was skipping growling tug of war. The hunter scooped up us bag in his arm still holding the dagger out at any who may approach. As sure enough when he turned around Titus was standing there as if waiting for him.
This was all too uncanny, shear terror would have been preferable to this confusion. The fiercest wolf in all the forest sniffed at his bag with a slanted curious eye. The hunter slowly and deliberately reached his hand into the backpack and pulled out a chunk of dried meat the size of two fists. The Titus yellow eye fixed on the morsel and stayed there as the hunter held it up and to the side then out towards the wolf. Titus sniffed for about the beat of a fly's wing then teeth as long as the hunter's remaining fingers flashed in the night and the meat was gone.
The wolf pack clambered to get a whiff of the meat, but Titus tossed his head keeping it away. He gave a low growl and stamped his feet. The pack receded like the waves at the shore of a lake and parted to let one wolf through the hairy throng. The hunter felt that this wolf had been hanging at the back because he would have defiantly taken notice had he seen it before. Of all the wolfs this one appeared weak and sickly. It had a pretty gold flecked grey coat with white legs but it was thin and haggard. walking with the faintest limp. It laboriously made its way forward and sniffed the meat in Titus's maw. With distinct tenderness the pack-leader placed the meat down before the sickly wolf and sat over it as it settled down and began to eat.
The hunter observed this with subdued anxiety. Many of the wolves as he looked around had old blood on their lips, "So, Titus." he began and the wolf turn his piercing eye back to him. "You've already eaten I take it?" to his left now that same ruddy wolf made a slinking approach and the hunter turn on him dagger ready, "which means you're just being a prick doesn't it."
All it took was half-hearted snarl form Titus and the wolf stopped it's menacing advance, shook some dust out of it's coat and slunk off glaring around. "What are you guys doing all the way over here? Was there a party with the slope pack and things got out of hand?"
The big black wolf raised his one functional eyebrow at him. "You know that's a fair point," the hunter said "why am I talking to a wolf? I'm sure it's not the first time I've talked to wolves but it's certainly the first time I've been around to see myself do it. I've been feeling strange all night but now don't need to wonder. Now I know madness has simply become me, such a relief wouldn't you agree?"
Titus blinked at him, then returned his attention to the ailing wolf who slow but surely was making it's way through the chunk of jerky. "What's wrong with this one then, uuuhhh... her. Brown rot. Bone break fever?" the hunter sheathed his dagger but kept his hand at his belt. He looked around the night slowly feeling toothless again. "Seriously what happened, why are you over here. Is there something happening near the lake or Helgen or..." a pale light of correlation sparked in the hunters eye. "Bleak falls mountain, Bracknel said there was something strange happening there, is that why you're here? What about the other pack did they move too?"
He looked around at the group, here in the open he could actually get a good count, there were 16 in all, practically a shaggy raiding party. "How do you take care of all these?" the hunter asked. A pair of yips sounded behind him and he spun to see the two smaller wolves still playing with the rope, whipping there heads and thrashing it about like prey. "Especially those too."
Abruptly the night was once again set on a knifes edge. A howl rose in the north and 17 heads turned in unison ears at attention. This a deep rumbling howl like nothing the hunter had heard before. "One of yours?" he asked hopefully. No such luck. Titus was up and barking at his pack, any that were down scrambled to their feet and from all around him the pack rushed away to the south. The hunter moved to follow, anything that could make an entire wolf pack flee was certainly worth running from. However as he set off the two wolfs who had been playing with the ropes ran past him on either side and the rope they still had between them swept his legs out from under him and he fell hard on his hip. He cursed as two of his brand new knives fell out of the bag and onto the road. Perhaps karmically the wolves did not get far before they did the same thing to a fence post and got whipped right into each other. Whining and yelping, the recovered and sped off after the others.
The hunter crawled over to his knives and stuffed them back into his bag. He tried to stand but pain shot up from his ankle where the rope had caught him. Doing his best to convince himself it was a superficial wound he fought to his feet. A second unearthly howl shook his bones, it was getting closer fast. His rope was in a loose tangle 20 yards away and might as well have been in oblivion for all time he had. Squeezing his bow and backpack to his chest he hobbled over to the wall he'd been sitting on and wasting no time flung himself over it into the wheat field. Like the log a week ago he lay there still as the dead, relying on the wall and the wheat to hide him from whatever was coming.
The night was quiet but for the chirping of crickets and the rustling of grass. He could hear his breath gently a hissing out of his nose. He heard his heartbeat thrumming through is neck. Directly over head Secunda shone bright in his eye. The field hadn't been fertilized in some time but he hoped the earthy scent of loamy soil would be enough to hide his own. He knew it was unlikely.
He heard the thumping of tiny feet approach and suddenly a pair for rabbits bounded over his head running south. He heard the wings of a nighthawk flutter past in the same direction. Then the crickets ceased their song, taking the hint the hunter stopped breathing. If he had felt he could get away with pausing his heart he would. Now there, in that silence could he per chance but sink into the ground and be safe from all eyes all thoughts all deeds. Night truly, a silent night. Rest could be found and given to the no one who still yet desired it.
A faint crackle as road stones moved underfoot, a massive foot, where but a step could sound like a shovel sinking into coal. Breath like the bellows of a forge seemed to pull at the tips of the wheat. It was sniffing at the ground a rumble in a chest the deep as the sky. A hand slowly slithered over the wall and rested there. A black furred hand with long spider like fingers ending in claws as long and wicked as a nightmare. It was big enough to wrap him fully around the torso. Like a sap slowly bleeding from a tree those obsidian points snaked down to him. The sniffing continued and he saw the hand grip; though lightly it seemed, the mortar of the divide cracked in protest. Then came the head. Red eyes, pointed ears and a wolfs snout three times the length and breath of Titus. Moist teeth the color Masser peaked out as the lips rolled back in a terrible grin. He met those red eyes and was remind not of fire, for fire had oranges and yellows to it as well; this was purer than flame and more sickly then a rose. It was hunger and lust and death. This was the end; but by all the trees in the forest it would not be a quiet end. He drew his dagger and raised it letting a last war cry broil up in his chest.
The sound never escaped his lips. That double sided dagger was now pressed against his face. He felt its sting and would have cried out had he been capable. That huge black hand was now wrapped around his face holding his nose and mouth shut. As it had arrived it had apparently caught his rising arm with it and now blood from his own dagger was rapidly spilling into his right eye. His left eye was open wide enough he was sure his skull was showing. The creatures red orbs bore into it doing as much to hold him in place as the hand pinning him. Drool dripped from those horrid teeth and onto his chest. Almost in response it seemed the monster closed it's mouth. Over the creatures rumbling breath the hunter heard movement out on the road. Then a voice like a land slide.
"What is it? Did you catch something."
The hunter watched awestruck as the monster's wicked maw began to articulate speech. "Old kill, keep hunting." He heard a rush of motion beyond the wall then nothing. The black furred monster leaned down to him and again it spoke. "Looks like you owe me again."
Then it was gone; disappearing back over the wall like a shadow chased away by a lantern. The night was quiet again. The wind continued to stroke the wheat. The crickets cautiously picked there song and an owl hooted somewhere near bye. Was he breathing? He could not be sure. He rolled to the side letting the blood that had pooled in his eye socket spill out. He felt the soil claw at him, and so to be planted like a seed he lay still as the earth crept over him like roots. He fell asleep.
